


An Unexpected Christmas Gift

by Affectiion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkwardness, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Presents, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 13:48:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16811845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Affectiion/pseuds/Affectiion
Summary: When Harry returns the wand of Narcissa Malfoy to her son, he reconnects with Hermione Granger, who is both the same as he remembers, yet different. As is Draco Malfoy. Somehow, he knows this will be a Christmas to remember.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to disenchantedglow for her work on this fic, any mistakes remaining are definitely my own!
> 
> I obviously do not own these characters, and make no profit off this work.

Harry stood nervously outside the ornate front door. He held a long, thin box in his hands, and he fiddled with the lid as he shifted from one foot to another in the cold air. He wished he’d had the forethought to cast a warming spell on his jacket, or at least worn his robes over the top of his muggle clothes. 

He rang the doorbell again, and when no one answered, sighed and turned to leave. He paused and looked up at the night sky. Maybe he shouldn’t have come, or maybe he should just tuck the box through the mail slot on the door? This seemed like a bad idea. 

Had he been a lesser man - one who had not trained in the Auror Corps for as long as he had, thus learning to control his impulses- he would have let out an unmanly shriek and possibly an inadvertent hex as his eyes wandered over the building and large balconies. He had thought he was alone until he met the eyes the woman standing almost directly above him.

He hadn’t seen her since just after the war, when Draco Malfoy’s role as a spy whad been revealed in Dumbledore’s Pensieve, and she shared the details of her role as his contact and ‘handler.’ He and Ron hadn’t taken the news well, and she had not wasted any time telling them where to go. He had been heartbroken, and she was devastated and sobbing at the time. He’d handled it badly, he could admit now. 

Hermione Granger was standing on the balcony above him, leaning against the balustrade and smoking a cigarette. She was smirking down at him, reminiscent of their shared time at Hogwarts. This time, however, Hermione was not in the traditional school uniform, nor casual Muggle clothes, but was flaunting what Harry still considered to be the most  _ spectacular _ female body he’d ever seen, wrapped in an alluring red corset, feet decked in towering black heels. 

“Evening, Inspector Potter,” she drawled on an exhale, smoke lazily trailing into the sky.

“Hermione,” he replied, eyes wide. 

“What can I do for you, Inspector?” she took another drag of the cigarette. “I wasn’t expecting to see an Auror on our doorstep this evening - do I need my lawyer?”

Harry hardly heard the question, busy trying to admire the curves of her body covertly. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked instead.

Hermione smirked. “Magic, Harry.” 

She leaned a little further over the balustrade, her breasts pushing higher as she tossed the finished cigarette to the ground. “Not here on business then?”

“What business would an Auror have here the night before Christmas Eve, Hermione?” he asked, trying to keep his eyes on her face. 

“You never know,” she knelt and fiddled with the strap on her heels. 

Harry, finally remembering that he was here for a reason, and not simply to admire a semi-naked woman, coughed. “I actually need to see Malfoy, if he’s in.”

Hermione waved her wand lazily at the door. “Come in. I’ll meet you at the stairs.” She turned and entered the house. 

The ornate door swung open and Harry entered, taking off his jacket in the sudden warmth of the house. He gazed around the space, having paused in the hallway to wait for the owner of the house. Hermione and Malfoy had excellent taste, as one would expect. What surprised Harry, however, was the homey nature of the house- everything looked expensive for sure, but it was comfortable and enticing, rather than the cold traditionalism of Malfoy Manor. It must have been Hermione’s influence, although she had clearly quickly come to appreciate the wealthy lifestyle of a ‘hero.’

Hermione, now wrapped in a silky robe, strode down the stairs. “Draco will just be a minute, he’s just getting dressed. We were just-”

“Granger, let’s not overshare with the Inspector, please.” Malfoy had caught up to Hermione and was now behind her. Harry, who had almost expected Malfoy to stroll around in a three-piece suit even at home, nearly fell over when he saw Malfoy in loose tracksuit pants and a well-worn T-shirt. Malfoy slipped his arm around Hermione’s waist and they walked down the last few stairs together. 

Harry realised his jaw had dropped and closed it with a snap. Hermione in lingerie, Malfoy in joggers, what on earth was happening? His focus was helped along by Malfoy’s pointed look. “I’m sure there’s a reason you’re here, Potter,” he began, “but Hermione tells me we kept you waiting in the cold for quite some time.” 

Harry shrugged awkwardly. “It’s no problem. It was a gamble coming tonight, I wasn’t sure you’d be home, or even that you’d let me anywhere near you, but I wanted to-”

“Stop rambling, Harry,” Hermione shook her head. “Come, sit and have a drink.” She took his free hand and tugged him into what looked like the study. “If you’re not here on official business, you can have one, correct?”

Harry nodded awkwardly, a little bamboozled, and allowed himself to be pulled along. Hermione shoved him into a comfortable chair in front of the fire and perched on the arm of it. “So, I’ll ask again, Inspector, what brings you here?”

“Whiskey or scotch, Potter?” Malfoy asked from behind them.   
  
Harry turned to look over the chair at where Malfoy stood in front of a selection of bottles and crystal. He let his eyes roam - not over the bottles, but over the picture Malfoy made. His normally formal attire left much more to the imagination than his current outfit. Harry was captivated by this informal Draco Malfoy. 

He realised he’d been silent a little too long when Malfoy turned to face him, brow furrowed. “Oh! Sorry, uh, whiskey, please. Any kind’s fine,” he tacked on hastily when Malfoy began to speak again.

Malfoy shot him a small, almost shy, smile and poured three drinks, carrying them over and handing the whiskey to Harry and something he couldn’t identify to Hermione.

He settled himself on the couch opposite and took a sip of his drink, eyes remaining on Harry. 

Harry placed the box he was holding on the coffee table and slid it over to Malfoy, who leant forward and caught it before it could go flying on the table. He raised a quizzical eyebrow at Harry as he began to slide the lid off. “Your mother’s wand,” Harry said, taking a nervous sip of his whiskey. “It was released from evidence today, and I’m given to understand that traditionally wands are buried with their wielders.” He shifted uncomfortably on his seat. “I thought you should have it back, to do whatever you need to do with it.” Harry took another large gulp of whiskey. 

Draco, eyes suddenly bright, held the wand delicately in his hand for a moment before placing it reverently back in its box. “Potter, I-” he abruptly stood and paced to the mantle of the fireplace. He stood there for a moment, staring at the box he gently placed in the centre. Hermione placed her drink carefully next to Harry’s and moved so she could slide her arms around Malfoy, leaning firmly against his back. “What Draco means to say, Harry, is thank you very much. It’s been playing on our minds that poor Narcissa was buried without it, so being able to return it to her will be a relief.” Her voice was muffled, her mouth pressed against Malfoy’s back. He turned and wrapped her in a hug, her head nestled into his neck. 

Malfoy turned and strode to Harry, grabbing his hand and pulling him to stand before gripping the other man in a strong hug. “Thank you, Potter, thank you.” 

Harry returned the hug without thinking - and despite the fact he could feel the emotion radiating off Malfoy in waves, he selfishly took the moment to appreciate the feel of the other man’s hard body pressed against his - it had clearly been too long between one night stands. He did a quick calculation as he and Malfoy drew apart. Eight months, maybe nine. No wonder Hermione and Malfoy were looking so good. Though, to be fair, he supposed they always had, hadn’t they?

He realised, after a moment, that he was still ensconced in Malfoy’s strong arms - and Hermione was watching them, shrewd and calculating. He disentangled himself swiftly and made a show of checking his watch. “Right, so-”  
  
“Sit down, Harry” Hermione interrupted. “At least finish your drink before you go.” She strolled over and poked Harry back into his chair. She perched on the arm, silk covered thigh perilously close to Harry’s shoulder. “So, what’re your plans for Christmas, Harry?”

Harry was a little disconcerted at how personable Hermione was being. Of course, they had seen each other since the dissolution of their friendship, as both she and Malfoy had undertaken their Healer courses at the same time as Harry had undertaken his Auror course. He had seen (mostly from afar) how she had come out of her shell, more like the ‘real Hermione’ as she had once described herself. Her brand of friendship was snark and sarcasm, dark humour and a smirk. Malfoy was usually hidden behind stiff formality- his snarky, sarcastic humour was always delivered in a posh, proper drawl.

“Oh, uh, not much,” he awkwardly sipped his drink. “I might go and see Luna, maybe. Nothing concrete, really.”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. “Not the Weasleys?” he queried.

“They no longer speak, right Harry?” Hermione wrinkled her nose at him. “They’re a bit shit, I think.” 

Heat rising to his face, Harry gulped from his glass, looking anywhere but Malfoy and Hermione. “A bit shit,” he couldn’t help but snort, “yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Draco looked confused for a moment, frowning at Hermione who provided the answer he was looking for. “Remember back when we started Healer training and all the gossip rags were printing that crap about Harry and Ginny’s break-up? They, oddly, didn’t print the reason why. I mean, they printed a lot of other weird and random reasons, but not the right one.” 

Harry’s glass was almost empty now, but he kept it in his hands, rotating it as he stared into the fire. “Jeez Hermione, hadn’t realised you were keeping tabs on me.”

“We were friends for a long time, Harry - and we can debate that in a minute if you want - but old habits die hard.” Hermione’s lips twisted in a wry grin. She returned her gaze to Malfoy, now seated on the couch across from Harry. “Long story short, Harry and Ginny broke up, Molly didn’t take it well. Harry being not-quite-straight, well, they found that much harder to cope with. So, he no longer sees them. I’m sure he still sees Ron occasionally though. It’d take a lot for Ron to disappear into the sunset.” Hermione sat on the couch and leaned into Malfoy’s shoulder. “Ron’s pretty loyal, for the most part. Let me get you another drink, Harry.” 

Harry almost didn’t catch the end of Hermione’s comment, caught in his own thoughts about how quiet and lonely this Christmas was going to be. He caught on as the silence drew out, Hermione and Malfoy obviously waiting for him to respond. “Oh! Oh, sorry, no, no thanks, that’s alright. I’ll be heading off and leave you two to your evening.” He stood and brushed his hands down the front of his trousers. “Thank you though, I appreciate the drink, it was… nice.” 

He was busy looking down at his shoes, so didn’t notice the series of  _ looks _ exchanged by the couple.

“Sit down, Potter,” Malfoy commanded gently. “You’re going to have another drink with us.”

Harry couldn’t help the grin that crossed his face, and he huffed out a laugh. “You can’t just tell people what to do anymore, Malfoy, we’re not at Hogwarts and I’m not your lackey.”

Hermione snickered. “He’s just a bossy git by nature, Harry, he doesn’t mean anything by it.” she shot Malfoy a cheeky smile. She absently pulled up her robe from where it was slipping down her shoulder. Harry desperately tried not to notice the lace decorating the top of her corset, but hell, it was a stunning view.

Without thinking, Harry shot back, “takes one to know one,” and after a stunned pause, the two burst into laughter. Harry was struck by how much he’d missed her. She hadn’t changed, really, he could see that now, given time and space. Except for her fashion choices, he supposed, but that would be Malfoy’s influence. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes but grinned anyway. Harry noticed the way his whole face changed, became softer. He had been good looking as a teen, but he had grown into a gorgeous man. 

The two sitting together were a very, very attractive couple. 

Yep, Harry really needed to leave. 

“Really, Harry, stay, just for a bit.” Hermione summoned the bottle of whiskey over, and looked him dead in the eye. “While you’re here, there’s something I’ve really wanted to talk to you about, for a while now.” She poured the drink into his abandoned tumbler and looked at him so beseechingly that he reluctantly sat back down. 

From there, there was a course of apologies, justifications, clarifications and more apologies, from both Harry and Hermione. Draco sat quietly next to Hermione offering support, his large hand resting on her knee. At one point, Harry had moved to sit on her other side, and now they sat knee to knee, laughing over memories about their time at Hogwarts and on the run. 

Until that point, Draco had remained silent, leaning back into the corner of the couch, he now peppered in questions and perspectives from outside their friendship group. Harry hardly noticed that it was Draco at this stage, caught up in the laughter and dry commentary. Hermione had leaned back so that he could see Draco’s face, and had refreshed their drinks so they were all a little tipsy and merry as they bantered back and forth.

“So, Potter,” Draco drawled into a quiet moment. The comfort level in the room had lifted dramatically, thanks in part to the alcohol, Harry was sure. He’d shed his work robes half an hour previously, and Hermione had kicked off her ridiculous heels and tucked her feet under herself. Draco had leaned forward and was smirking. Harry had a feeling he was up to no good. So apparently, did Hermione, because she was frowning slightly, head tilted to the side as though she was trying to preempt her partner’s train of thought. 

“You’ve recounted a lot of excellent stories from your youth, no doubt,” Draco smirked at Hermione. “But you have, in my opinion, neglected to review my favourite.”

Harry watched the colour drain from Hermione’s face, and she shot Draco one of those looks that couples use - you know, the ‘ _ keep talking and you’re dead _ ’ kind of look. He looked at Draco as well, wondering aloud, “what could your favourite be?” then, with dawning realisation, “ _ you _ have a favourite story about  _ our _ childhood adventures?”

Draco, having participated in a silent exchange with Hermione, muttered “trust me,” and looked back at Harry. “It’s not just  _ my _ favourite, I don’t think, Potter.”

Hermione shifted for a moment, but whatever she saw on Draco’s face saw her breathing out a shaky sigh, her body relaxing. 

Harry had watched this exchange, over within seconds, with some confusion. “I don’t get it,” he shrugged and took a mouthful of his whiskey. He let his gaze wander over the two stockings hang over the fireplace, where a magical fire crackled merrily away. .

“Hermione told me a story, once,” Draco began, leaning forward a little further. “It involves a cold night in your tent when you were on the run.”

Harry froze, heat suffusing his face. “Uh-” The fire suddenly became very interesting.

Draco sat back grinning. “So you  _ do _ remember it.” His hand ran lazily along Hermione’s thigh.    
Harry’s lips twisted wryly. He wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t know what Draco was referring to, as tempting as it was. “Well, it’s pretty hard to forget. But forgive me for being…  _ surprised _ that she mentioned it to you, though.” He was regretting having finished his drink. He wished desperately for something to do with his hands, and continued intensely avoiding eye contact with the couple sitting in front of him, instead following the path of the tinsel around the crown moulding of the high ceilings. 

Draco gazed intently at Harry. Harry could feel the heat of those silver eyes burning into his skin. “Oh, she’s mentioned it once or twice.” Draco laughed when Hermione swatted his arm. “Well, you have. And not that long ago, I’d remind you!” Harry was almost mesmerised by this side of Draco -  _ that smile!  _ \- he was playful, but still intense, and Hell, Harry  _ liked  _ it. He liked it almost as much as the comfort of the confident Hermione next to him. He was in all kinds of trouble.

“Potter,” Draco interrupted his train of thought. “Forgive me for being forward, but I find, in situations such as these, it often pays to be direct.”    
  
Harry wrinkled his brow and focussed, for the first time regretting the volume of alcohol he’d consumed. 

“I would say,” Malfoy stretched the words out, smirk still strong on his face, “Hermione wouldn’t be adverse to recreating that night, in a manner.”

Harry could have fallen off the couch. “Come off it, Malfoy!” he snorted. “What’re you on about? How much have you had to drink?” Harry was laughing awkwardly, until he noticed he was the only one who was. Hermione was blushing but looking at him steadily, and Draco was still leaning forward intently. 

“You heard me, Potter. Hermione recalls that night with extreme… pleasure. And while I’d like to pretend to be completely selfless and say that I would suffer it for her, I can’t lie. I’ve always found you quite… intriguing, I suppose might be the word. So, if you’re amenable, I think you’d find me a most  _ willing _ participant.”

Harry sat, stunned. “Are you asking me to sleep with you?  _ Both _ of you?” Incredulous wasn’t the right word. Harry didn’t know any words to describe the feeling of excitement, fear, shock, panic, that he was currently experiencing. He did, however, feel as though his heart might beat out of his chest. 

Harry was frozen, quietly panicking - torn between reality (this was ridiculous) and fantasy (as in, every one he’d ever had, offered to him at the same time).

Hermione took pity on him, reaching out a hand and placing it gently on his forearm. “No pressure, Harry, just an idea.” She shot a dirty look at Malfoy, who held his hands in surrender. 

“No pressure of course, love, none at all.” He tucked his long, long, legs beneath him, and knelt over Hermione to pat Harry on the leg. “Of course, what kind of brave, Gryffindor, Auror, Boy-Who-Lived would you be if you didn’t give it a shot?” His face was alight with that cheeky grin again, and Harry couldn’t help himself, leaning closer, his lips almost touching Draco’s. He heard Hermione’s breath catch and it was as though reality crashed over him in a wave. Hermione and Malfoy were drunk, and this would lead to many more years of avoiding each other in the street.

“I have to go.” he stood and wordlessly summoned his Auror robes. “Thanks for the drinks, and it was great catching up again, but I have to go. I really have to go.”

Hermione was about to protest again, but Draco stopped her with a look. “Any time, Potter.”

Harry was already striding to the front door, wrapping his robes around himself. He was just reaching for the door knob when Draco caught his wrist and spun him around gently, before pushing him against the closed door. “Really, Potter, I mean it.” He leaned closer. “Any time. This is an open invitation. If you wake up in the morning and wish you’d stayed here tonight, you’re welcome back. If you want to have lunch with us, you’re welcome back. If you wake up on Christmas morning and realise you deserve an excellent Christmas gift in the form of a barely dressed Hermione Granger tied up with tinsel, you’re welcome back.” He pressed his lips against Harry’s - it could barely be called a kiss, it was so fleeting, and Harry chased it as Draco pulled away. He took a deep breath as Draco let go of his wrist and took two steps back. And then another. And another. He was just about to turn back to the door when he caught sight of bushy hair flying towards him. He only had a second to brace before Hermione slammed into him, her muttered “fuck it,” spoken into his lips, and she snogged the hell out of him, right there in the beautifully decorated foyer of the home she shared with Draco Malfoy, who watched on, pale face no longer pale, eyes hot, breath coming fast.

Way too soon, Hermione disentangled herself, walking backwards until she stood with Draco, smiling, eyes bright. “Remember, Harry, you’re welcome back. Any time.” 

Harry let himself out of their house as they looked on, and just as he was closing the door behind him he heard Hermione informing Draco, “he kisses just as well as I remember.” 

Still reeling, he somehow made it to the apparition point, and surprisingly made it home with all limbs intact. His focus was severely lacking, caught in the imagery Draco Malfoy had left him with - Hermione Granger tied up with tinsel, smiling up at him. The perfect Christmas present.

He barely made it to the shower to wank. 


	2. Chapter 2

He woke up obsessing over the situation. He went to work, obsessing over the situation. He finished his end of year paperwork, obsessing over the situation. He’d just decided to work through lunch when his secretary dropped his mail onto his desk. “Thanks, Penny,” he shot her a quick grin. “Why don’t you head off now? It’s Christmas, and I won’t be far behind.”

She swooped down and gave him a brief hug. She was out of the door like a shot, calling behind her, “Merry Christmas, sir!”

He shuffled through his mail, responding where he needed to, throwing the others in the bin, until he came to the last letter. He recognised the handwriting, having experienced it scrawled across his homework for seven years. His pulse sped and he opened the letter with trembling hands. Why on earth was he so nervous? It was just him, alone in his office, reading a letter from Hermione Granger. 

He skim read the letter and corrected himself. It was just him, alone in his office, reading a  _ dirty _ letter from Hermione Granger, accompanied by an equally dirty sketch by Draco Malfoy.    
  
Hermione had recounted, in graphic and minute detail, their teenage encounter in the freezing tent, and Draco had followed it up with the image that had plagued Harry all day - a semi-naked Hermione Granger. Draco had sketched Hermione sleeping on her stomach on a bed, sheet covering only her arse, the rest of her left gloriously bare to the world. Harry ran his eyes down the curve of her back, the length of her legs. Ribbon had been artfully draped about her to give the illusion of a semi-unwrapped gift. His head thumped on the desk. Okay, so it wasn’t because of the alcohol. Unless of course they were still drunk. 

He tried to finish his paperwork, but his eyes just kept getting drawn to the picture. If he wasn’t staring at the picture, he was staring at the wall, Hermione’s words running through his head. 

In the end, he had to give up. He stacked his work in the centre of his desk, deciding to come back the next day to finish it. It’d be Christmas Day, and the Ministry would be running on skeleton staff, so he would be able to get plenty done, as long as there were no more distractions. He stuck his head into the main office, yelling for his team to go home, returning the shouted ‘Merry Christmases’ before himself heading to the communal floos to go home.

He’d just had a shower (and another quick wank because he wasn’t a saint for heaven’s sake) and settled onto the couch in only a loose pair of joggers to watch TV, when he heard a tapping at his window. He stood and let the huge owl in, gently removing the letter from its proffered leg. The owl settled on the back of his desk chair, clearly waiting for a response. 

_ Dear Harry _ the letter read.  _ We hope you didn’t mind today’s mail - that we didn’t take it too far. If we didn’t, we know it’s Christmas Eve and you may already have plans, but we’d love to invite you over for dinner. 6pm, our place. You can just floo right in. Dress casual. H&D _

It took Harry all of two agonising minutes to make his decision. He grabbed his quill and replied.

_ See you then. _

He leaned against the window frame and watched as the owl flew into the blue sky. 

* * *

It was five minutes past six when Harry flooed into Hermione and Draco’s house. He had worked himself into a state of almost panic, and similarly, Hermione must have been pacing the floor, as when he stumbled out of the fireplace, nearly decapitating himself on the hanging decorations, her face visibly brightened. “Oh thank goodness, we weren’t sure you’d come!” She bustled forward and hooked her arm through his. She chattered about the weather and her day, the food which was being prepared for dinner. He responded appropriately and desperately tried not to imagine her naked, the image Draco sent him flashing through his brain, her loose T-shirt and tight jeans not enough armour for his indecent thoughts. 

Draco met them in the hallway. He slid his arm around Hermione’s waist, and joined them in the walk towards food. As they walked, the hand on Hermione’s waist would occasionally brush against Harry’s hip, and he became more and more aware of it. He lost track of the conversation as he wondered how long this hall could possibly be. 

“-in here,” Draco finished off, as they entered the room they had shared drinks in the night before. Draco let go of Hermione and sat in one of the arm chairs, while Hermione curled her body into the corner of the couch. Harry needed a minute to sort out his thoughts, so took a wander about the room, under the pretense of admiring the festive Christmas decorations that he hadn’t quite noticed the night before. He commented on the brightness of the fairy lights, one of which blowing him a kiss as she fluttered around the massive Christmas Tree in the corner. Hermione joined him at the tree, pointing out all of the baubles that held some significance to the pair. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he definitely felt much calmer now. 

Draco called their attention to the food, which had appeared on the coffee table, and they all settled on the floor to eat the selection of finger foods, Hermione filling their wine glasses from a tall decanter. Harry took a sip and shot a confused look at Draco, who swallowed his bite of food slowly before answering the unasked question. “Hermione pointed out that perhaps you thought our interest in you was due to what you  _ might  _ have considered excessive alcohol in our systems.” He made a little sandwich of crackers and cheese for Harry and passed it to him, leaning close and looking at him under his lashes. “It wasn’t,” he whispered conspiratorially, before leaning back to his plate. Hermione scooted closer to Harry and put her hand just above his knee, “it really wasn’t,” she agreed. She continued to eat from the selection of cheese and bread, making appreciative noises when she encountered a flavour she really liked, all the while, her hand still on Harry’s thigh. 

The three continued to chat away, and Harry was surprised how easy it was between them. He and Draco had left behind any childish animosity, and it was as though he and Hermione had never been parted. Conversation flowed, with innuendo and flirtatious smiles making an appearance. 

As the meal drew to a close and the plates began to vanish, Draco turned back to Harry and scooted a little closer. “So…” he began with a suggestive smirk. “What did you think of my drawing?”

Hermione had settled directly next to Harry as well, so he was feeling somewhat hemmed in. Not uncomfortably so, more that he was becoming aware of the bodies next to him, remembering Draco’s drawing and then picturing Draco naked, which was becoming a somewhat pressing issue.

“I… liked it,” Harry muttered, distracted. Hermione had leaned even closer - she was as close to Harry as she could be without sitting on his lap. He could feel the heat of her body, and he was absolutely  _ itching _ to slide his arm around her. 

Draco made an approving noise. He ran his hand down Harry’s arm, drawing his attention away from Hermione. “I’m glad you  _ liked _ it.” 

“The only thing it was missing was tinsel,” Harry replied. 

Draco broke into surprised laughter. “I can only apologise, Harry.”

“That’s alright,” Harry answered magnanimously. “I’m sure you can include it next time.” He leaned back against the chair behind him, relaxed despite the increasingly electric atmosphere. 

They bantered back and forth for a while, until Hermione huffed out a “men talk too much!” and slid onto Harry’s lap, legs on either side of his. She pressed herself against him and kissed his neck with fervor. His surprise at her movements didn’t stop him from dropping his head back against the chair, allowing her further access to do as she pleased. His hands came to rest on her hips, and he caught her mouth with his. He’d almost forgotten Draco, in this familiar dance of lips. It wasn’t until his hands accidentally bumped Draco’s that he realised that the other man had moved behind Hermione and was beginning to run his hands under her top. Hermione gasped as Harry’s hands inadvertently clenched at the sight. “Sorry, sorry!” he panted.

“No, it’s ok, I liked it,” she answered breathlessly. She leaned slightly to the side so that Draco could kiss Harry enthusiastically. “Yeah, I like that too,” she acknowledged. She watched for a moment, then pushed the men apart and stood, pulling them to their feet after her. “Bed, now,”  she demanded, pulling them towards the stairs.

* * *

When Harry woke the next morning, it was with a face full of hair - Hermione was curled in front of him, warm body almost too hot. He stretched a little, content, before pulling himself to sit. “Going somewhere, Potter?” Draco’s posh voice came from the other side of Hermione. Harry turned to see the blond propped on his elbow looking sleepily at him. 

“Hmm,” Harry turned away again. “Yeah, I thought I should head off, leave you two for your Christmas celebrations.” He stood and began the hunt for his clothes, which had somehow ended up strewn across the floor. 

“Well, I suppose you could do that,” Draco drawled, a hint of merriment in his tone. “But then again, instead of finding your clothes, you could help me find some tinsel.” 

Harry paused. “Tinsel?”

“Mhmm. I need to wrap your Christmas present.”

“ _ My  _ Christmas present?” 

Draco smiled cheekily. “Yes, Potter. One cannot give their love interest a naked Christmas present.”

“A naked prese-  _ love interest? _ ” Harry’s jaw dropped. “What?”

Hermione’s voice mumbled out from the pillow: “He’s not thick, Draco, he’s oblivious. Spell it out for him, there’s a love.”

Draco snorted indelicately. “I’ll explain it on the way.”

“Way?” Harry echoed. 

“The tinsel, Potter, keep up. I’m giving you - that is,  _ our _ love interest - a gift. The gift being Hermione, to be clear. But I need the tinsel to wrap her.”

“Bring back food,” Hermione mumbled. “We’ll need it after.”

Harry’s brain began to catch up. “Oh. Oh! Right. Okay. Tinsel.” He pulled on his pants, and walked around to the other side of the bed. He leant over and kissed Hermione’s shoulder. Draco used Harry’s moment of imbalance to tug him across his own body, snogging him hard before pushing him away. “Right, stop being distracting. We need tinsel!”

And that began tradition. 

The next year, it was Harry’s turn to be the present. The year after, Draco’s. And then, Hermione’s again. And every year, Harry framed Draco’s drawings (after enacting them, obviously). In between Christmases, of course, were Valentine’s Days, birthdays and Halloweens. All creatively celebrated before being recorded by Draco, framed by Harry, and hung in their shared bedroom by Hermione. 

And every year, at Christmas, Harry visited Narcissa’s grave, to thank her not only for saving his life, but for the most perfect Christmas gift he ever could have imagined. 


End file.
